


So brainwashing was a thing

by BitterChocolateStars



Series: Ms.Red's RvB Au Shorts [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterChocolateStars/pseuds/BitterChocolateStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:<br/>"I was thinking of this thing where Simmons became like a crazy person (murderer, mpd, hallucinations, etc.) and grif is a person who is trying to meet some new people Or Simmons is absolutely insane and grif is just trying to get by. " ~Unlikelyhero </p>
<p>All Grif wanted when he moved to this city was a fresh start and some peace, maybe meet a few interesting people and eat some good food while he went to school.<br/>This was the third night this month he'd found the eighteen year old curled up in the alley behind his apartment building covered in blood.</p>
<p>(I hope you like it)</p>
            </blockquote>





	So brainwashing was a thing

 

 

All Grif wanted when he moved to this city was a fresh start and some peace, maybe meet a few Interesting people and eat some good food while he went to school.

Grif stared at the kid, well he was more of a man than kid, curled up on the other end of his couch. He'd managed once again to somehow tuck all six feet of his lanky body into himself. He babbled quietly  into his knees. Not the panicked babbling Grif had heard the first night he'd brought the guy into his apartment. This was a calm conversation with himself that Grif couldn't hear.

This was the third night this month he'd found the eighteen year old curled up in the alley behind his apartment building covered in blood. The first time, he'd panicked and offered to call the police, thinking the  guy had been mugged or something. He figured out pretty quickly that it wasn't Simmons blood. He'd offered to call the police again, only for very different reasons. But the blank confused look Simmons had given him, quickly followed by asking Why Grif would need to call the cops. Had clued him into the fact that maybe something wasn't quite right with the man. Grif had done a once over of Simmons wallet before finding the small card saying who to call in case the guy had an 'episode' whatever the fuck that meant. So Grif had called and sent Simmons on his way. Pushing thoughts of the incident out if his mind. Until it happened again two weeks later, and again a month after that. It kept happening, and every time Simmons would turn up in the same spot in the alley. So frequently that Grif hadn't bothered to call the number on the card after the eighthtime it happened. Instead just dragging Simmons into his place and drinking a few beers to get through the crazy.

"So who was it this time?" Grif finally asked. Trying not to think about the blood staining the towel wrapped around Simmons shoulders.He'd need to get new ones at this rate.

Simmons babbling stopped. He lifted his head and looked over at Grif. "I don't know." He answered. He still had that glassy eyed look. The fog in his head that would take hours to clear sometime. Then the meltdown would begin.

"What do you remember before blacking out?" Grif prompts. It's a routine they have now. Grif would find a disoriented Simmons and bring him inside. He'd wait for Simmons to start talking to himself. Ask who he killed tonight. Receive the same 'I don't know'. Ask the same 'What do you remember'. The answers varied after that. Although, they had a single common theme.

"I went to see my therapist." Simmons begins. Grif wants to scream. Always. It always starts with this. By now Grif had a sneaking suspicion that Simmons therapist had something to do with his blackout periods. Grif tried to bring it up once. That ended with Simmons screaming, and storming out of his apartment.

"I was walking home, and then... Then I was here." Simmons pauses, glancing down at his hands. "Grif..." He starts quietly. Grif knows what's coming. The meltdown. The realization of what he's done. Again. " I killed someone. I keep killing people." He looked up desperately. "What's wrong with me?"

"A lot." Grif says bluntly. He hadn't been afraid of Simmons since the second time he dumped him on his couch. "But, I don't think it's really you doing this." He says slowly. Broaching the dreaded topic of his therapist. 

"What are you talking about? Of course it is!  Look at me!" Simmons gestured down to his bloody shirt.

"No you asshole. I mean its not you choosing to do this." He waits for Simmons to stop him. To protest. He doesn't. Just continues to look like he wants to take a dive off of  Grif's balcony. Not that Grif would let him. He kinda likes Simmons, despite the whole 'oops I killed someone' thing that happens every month.

"There's a pattern. And I know you've noticed you anal-retentive nerd. This happens three times a month. On specific days." Grif prompts. This will go better if Simmons will admit it out loud. Admit that things with his therapist aren't on the up and up. 

"I don't know Grif..." Simmons mumbled. Turning his head to stare out of the window. "Why would he do this?"

"I don't know. Cause he's crazy?" Grif clicked his tongue. "We need proof right? You need proof. Its the only way to prove that you're not as crazy as hes making you believe. You're sick Simmons, but you aren't this sick." 

* * *

 

Grif woke a month later to his Simmons alarm. He hurried down to the alley. Finding Simmons in his usual place. He hauled the man up and led him back into his apartment.

Instead of their usual routine, the moment the glassy eyed look vanished Simmons dug into his pocket and pulled out a small screen. Passing it over to Grif without a word.

Grif stared at it. "The fuck is this?" He asked.

"I was afraid to watch it, so I put it in my pocket before I... Before I blackedout." He said quietly. Afraid of looking at the screen.

Grif realizes what this is. Evidence. "How'd you get a camera in the room with you?" He asked.

"I attached a small camera into my glasses." He explains. "It records the video to that screen, then I can upload it to my computer."

Grif nods. Not really caring. "Wanna watch it now or..."

Simmons gave a jerky nod. He curls tighter in on himself. "I'm scared." He admits quietly.

"Of?" Grif asked.

"What if it is just me?" He asked hesitantly.

"Then we'll deal with it." Grif shrugged. Honestly he had no fucking clue what he would do. He'd come to actually care about the nut job, which became complicated once Grif realized that Simmons could now be considered a serial killer. Meaning that someone somewhere would be looking for him. This made Grif's quest to prove Simmons innocence all the more pressing. 

Grif fiddled with the screen until he figured out how to  play the video.

The video started as Simmons walked through the doors to his appointment.

_ "Hello Richard." The secretary waved cheerily. "Here for your appointment with Dr. Price?" She asked rhetorically. _

_ "Yeah." Simmons replies quietly. Walking past her and into a fairly large office. A man sat in a cushioned chair on one side of the room. _

_ "Good afternoon Simmons." The man greeted. Voice a gentle monotone. He waves to the large couch. Indicating that Simmons should sit. _

_ Simmons complies. Curling up on the couch the same way he curls into Grif's. _

_ "How are you feeling Simmons?" The man asked. _

_ "Fine." Simmons answer softly. _

_ "Simmons, the Director has a new  game  for you to try today." price says soothingly. _

_ The video jerks as Simmons stiffens in his protective ball. _

_ "What's the game ?" Simmons asks. Voice flat. _

_ "There's a man in the city. The Director would like you to talk to him." Price said, flipping through a clipboard. "Do you understand?" _

_ "Yes." Simmons answered. _

_ The man talked a little more about the target before setting his clipboard down on his knees. _

_ "That was a good session Simmons. I think we're much closer to understanding the cause of your PTSD. I know it must be hard  not to blame yourself, especially after what happened with your father._ _You have to remember that you will get better_."

Grif clicked off the video. Taking a moment to collect himself. So brainwashing was a thing apparently.  Grif had so many questions. PTSD? father? Who the fuck was the Director?   


"So..." Grif drawled. "I think you should see a new councilor." He looks over and finds Simmons curled up so tight he was almost worried something would snap.

"I don't understand." He whispers into his knees. "I don't... Why me? I didn't do anything. It wasn't my fault. I didn't-"

"Simmons... What happened to your father?" Grif asks. Deciding to start there seemed like a good place.

"He died." Simmons answered. "I killed him."

"Right. Of course you did." Grif ran a hand through his hair. "Why?"

"He hit me." Simmons explained. "I don't remember doing it. I don't remember grabbing the knife, but when I woke up he was on the floor, and there was blood...  so much blood Grif."

Grif bit back the sarcastic response. Now was not the time. 

"I didn't mean to do it." Simmons whispered. Grif believed him. As ridiculous as it seemed now, after everything, Simmons didn't seem like the kind of guy to just kill people on purpose.

"Who is the Director?" Grif decided to change the subject.

"I don't know... I think he might be the man running the counseling project." Simmons shrugs.

"Okay, we should go to the police." Grif suggested.

"And tell them what? That an ex-psych patient is killing people because the guy running his counseling program is a front for a weird brainwashing setup?" Simmons scoffs.

Right. Point.

Grif sighed. "What are we going to do?" 

"I'm not going back." Simmons hissed. "I'm never going back to that place." 

Grif reached over and patted his knee. "Why don't you stay here tonight." He said before standing up and walking over to his kitchen. He needed a beer.

* * *

 

He woke a monthlater to someone standing over his bed. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Thinking it to be Simmons. It wouldn't be the first time. He was prone to nightmares,  sleepless nights that had him drifting over to Grifs apartment from all the way across town.

"Good evening Dexter." Price greeted. Standing at the end of Grifs bed with a small notebook in hand.

Grif froze in place. "What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?" He demanded. He moved to get out of bed but Price held up his hand to stop him.

"You've been undoing two years of work. The Director isn't pleased." The man informed him.

"Yeah, and?"

"And Simmons has been missing a few appointments. I think you should make up for that." He tucked the notebook away in his coat pocket and stepped aside. Revealing Simmons tucked in the corner of the room.

Grif stood. Taking a step towards Simmons before stopping. "What did you do to him?" Simmons looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"He has been given a new task. We can't have you putting any more ideas into his head." Price turned to leave the room. Closing the door behind him.

Simmons shifted. The blade of the knife catching the light of the moon, an eerie sight. He began to approach Grif.

"Simmons?" Grif called quietly. Trying not to startle him. The man just stared at him blankly. No recognition in his eyes. "Hey buddy, you want to put the knife down?" No response. Grif shifted back. Wanting to keep distance between them. He didn't have very far to go, within moments his back was against the wall.

Simmons stepped up to him. Barely a foot away. He lifted the knife. Ready to strike. 

Grif's eyes snapped closed as he waited for death.

Waited...

And waited...

He pried his eyes open. Looking up at his friends face. He was startled by what he saw.

Simmons face had crumpled. Tears running freely down his cheeks. He stared down at Grifs chest where the knife was held between them. His breath hitched. He seemed alert now.

"Simmons? Simmons look at me." Grif pleaded. Simmons looked up from the knife in his shaking hands, he looked terrified. "Whatever he told you to do, what ever he's trying to make you do. You don't have to do it." Grif paused, an idea popping into his head. "I'm not your dad Simmons, i'm not going to hurt you."

Simmons shook his head. "Stop-" he choked.

"Stop what?" Grif asked softly.

"I don't want to do this." Simmons sobbed.

Grif edged to the side. "You don't have to." Hand reaching out,he gently took the knife from Simmons fingers. "He can't make you do anything you don't want to do."

"Grif-" Simmons rasped.

Grif tossed the knife away and wrapped Simmons in his arms. "You're okay." He whispers. He can feel Simmons legs about to give out, and slowly lowers them to the ground. Simmons curling impossibly into his lap. He sobbed into Grif's shoulder.  "It's okay. I'm okay. You didn't hurt anyone." Grif sooths.

There was a scuffle happening in his living room. He heard the front door being kicked open. He figured the police have finally caught on to what was happening. He could here the quiet demands for Price to put his hands up. And a few moments later his door was reopened. A man and woman stepping into his room. Guns raised, ready to shoot.

"Sir, step away from him." The newest intruder, the man, ordered. "He's dangerous."

"He's fine." Grif rolled his eyes. "As long as you get him," he jerked his head to indicate Price. "Out of my apartment."

"I don't think you understand-"

"Understand what? That someone's been letting that nut job brainwash people and turning them into some fucked up army of hit men, I think I understand fine." He growled. He really just wanted these people to fuck off. He just wanted nothing more than Price out of his house, and to drag Simmons to bed. He realizes he should be more worried about this whole situation but finds that he can't bring himself to care all that much. He has an exam tomorrow and he really would like to get back to sleep.

"Wash." The woman spoke up. "I think this ones fine. I don't think we need to bring him in." She said quietly.

Grif realized they were trying not to spook Simmons. He also realized that Simmons knew. He curled into Grif's chest, trying to ignore what was going on.

"'Lina, we have orders." Wash reminded.

"To bring in the dangerous ones. Does he look dangerous to you?" She asked.

Simmons was indeed the most non-threatening thing in this room. Wash sighed. 

"He's killed people." Wash stated.

"So have we." She argued.

"Who are you people?" Grif asks. There's no way they're cops or they'd be dragging Simmons away in cuffs.

"You could say we're Freelancers." Lina answers. "We were like him once." She nods at Simmons. "But we got better."

* * *

 

Things don't immediately get better.

Simmons moves in with Grif, in a small house outside of town. Carolina suggested it. Told them a place far away from people will be good for Simmons recovery. 

Sometimes Grif  will wake up and find Simmons curled up on the bathroom floor. Eyes glassy, and the smell of vomit in the air. Sometimes Simmons won't talk for days. Sometimes he'll be found staring at the knives on Grif's counter.

Grif  will simply pull him away, into the bedroom. They stay there all day sometimes. Curled together, forgetting whose limbs belong to who. Content to simply forget the outside world.

They meet some of the other people from Simmons therapy group. Wash suggests it. Says it helps knowing you aren't the only one who was made a victim.

 Tucker brings his son over one afternoon. Wash is with them, helping watch over Junior during Tuckers recovery. The two seem to be in a situation similar to Grif and Simmons. Tuckers kind of an ass, but so is Grif. It's a quickly formed friendship.

Sarge shows up past midnight with a bottle of booze and a scowl. Grif almost slams the door in his face, but Simmons stops him and welcomes the man inside. Grif and Sarge spend half the night glaring at each other while Simmons gets actively drunker.

Caboose shows up early one morning with Church and two of Cabooses sisters in tow. Church is snappy and angry while Caboose smiles at everything and nothing. His sisters are watching over their recovery. Every few minutes one of them will ruffle Church's hair, only to watch Church curse and hiss at her that he's an adult.

They wake up late one morning to Donut in their kitchen making breakfast. They don't bother to ask how he got in, the doors are still locked, and so are the windows. He's cheerful in a way that makes Grif want to smother himself with a pillow. Him and Sarge show up the most out of their new group of friends.

Grif often wonders when the fuck his life got so weird. When having a group of brainwashed hitmen as friends was considered normal. He'll just sigh, grab a cookie and accept that this is his life now.

**Author's Note:**

> So i'm not sure if i like the way this turned out. i may try to write something diffrent for the prompt. I mean i liked how it started, but by the end i just didn't like the direction it went, i kinda want to write Simmons crazier. So be on the look out for a rewrite for this prompt posted in my main collection at some point in the future.
> 
> Sorry about that weird flippin spacing issue. still can't find the cause of it.
> 
> Jubilantdoctor drew something amazing for this and i am absolutly floored. Thank you So Much!  
> Go check it out birdies: [Neat Art](http://jubilantdoctor.tumblr.com/post/133493741633/msredrum666-this-was-one-of-those-rare-occasions)


End file.
